


Breathe Every Breath (Like It Wasn't a Countdown)

by aktura



Series: Soulmate For Sure (Love Was Never Like This Before) [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Insecure Steve Harrington, Not Beta Read, Protective Dustin Henderson, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, Supportive Dustin Henderson, canon compliant AU, could be platonic or romantic (reader's choice), lowkey angst (but with a predictably happy ending)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23561989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aktura/pseuds/aktura
Summary: Steve’s countdown begins in the fall of 1983.He’s in History class when it hits him, slouched down low in his chair and picking at the bagel he’d brought with him from home. Mrs. Click is droning on about a captain from some old war back when they still rode horses into battle, and the chalk in her hand scrapes across the blackboard as she underlines some point she considers important. Steve’s trying to focus on what she’s writing, honestly, he is, but her voice is too monotone and the hour is too early, and—And that’s when it happens.Soulmate AU where a time and a set of coordinates show up on your skin; if you’re at the right place, at the right time, you will either meet your soulmate, or a possible death.
Relationships: Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, brief Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, brief Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington & Carol Perkins, pre-Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington
Series: Soulmate For Sure (Love Was Never Like This Before) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547194
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	Breathe Every Breath (Like It Wasn't a Countdown)

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have another soulmate AU, because it’s not like I have other fics to finish, right? (I've been picking at this thing for weeks now and if I don't post it I'll be picking away at it forever).
> 
> Also, Steve POV! Which means that this is angstier than the previous works in this series, because my Steve likes to angst, the poor thing.
> 
> Title from _Fortune Teller_ by Hot Cross.

//

Steve’s countdown begins in the fall of 1983. 

He’s in History class when it hits him, slouched down low in his chair and picking at the bagel he’d brought with him from home. Mrs. Click is droning on about a captain from some old war back when they still rode horses into battle, and the chalk in her hand scrapes across the blackboard as she underlines some point she considers important. Steve’s trying to focus on what she’s writing, honestly, he is, but her voice is too monotone and the hour is too early, and— 

And that’s when it happens. 

It’s a sharp, searing pain, slithering up his arm and into his shoulder, biting down along his spine – like an invisible hand is suddenly raking its nails across the inside of his right wrist, digging into the skin there.

Steve hisses from the sting of it, scattering bagel crumbs all over the floor as he jerks in his seat, and Mrs. Click turns to give him a flat look before resuming her lecture. 

Steve grits his teeth and slowly peels back the cuff of his sweater.

It’s not the first Timer he’s seen, of course. His mother has one, as does his father – both zeroed out – but it’s the first time the numbers are on the inside of his own wrist. There’s something distressing about it, and the marks look startlingly foreign on his body even though all Timers basically look the same; pale indigo lines running just beneath the surface of the skin, like the blue of superficial veins or a faded tattoo.

 _656 14 08_ , Steve’s Timer reads – days, hours, minutes – and, below that, a longer string of numbers and letters that make up his coordinates. Steve watches as the _08_ smoothly fades into an _07_ , and then quickly pulls his sleeve back down. 

He feels hot all of a sudden, heart beating faster and sweat starting to form at his hairline – feels sick to his stomach, and he’s on the verge of bolting from his seat and escaping the classroom, Mrs. Click’s wrath be damned, when his chair is suddenly jolted by a kick from behind.

It helps to knock him out of his burgeoning panic, and he turns to find himself face to face with Tommy, who’s looking at him with raised eyebrows; _What’s up?_

Steve takes a deep breath and sinks back down into his chair, shaking his head. _Later, man._

//

By lunch time, the numbers read _656 12 41_. Tommy barks out a laugh when Steve stretches his arm out across the table to show him. 

“Dead man walking!” Tommy crows, ever the optimist, and Carol swats at his shoulder.

“Steve’s not going to _die_ ,” she says, and then, “though I suppose this means Miss Perfect is out of the running.”

Steve frowns. “Don’t call her that,” he says, remembering the way Nancy had looked earlier that morning when he’d stopped by her locker to talk to her – her shy, soft smile and the way her hair had curled delicately against her temples. “It could still be her. Maybe we’ll have a— a Moment, or something. Maybe it’s counting down to that.”

Carol looks thoughtful, but Tommy snorts. “Or you’ll die young,” he says, cocky in a way he can afford to be with his still-bare wrists.

Steve kicks at him under the table, ignoring the pit that is starting to form in the bottom of his stomach. “Are you guys going to help me figure this shit out or not?”

//

They skip fourth period and head to the school library. There, under the ever-watching and suspicious eye of Ms. Edwards the librarian, the three of them eventually manage to agree that the Timer counts down to sometime early July, 1985. 

The hour is easy to figure out – sometime late at night, close to midnight – but the exact date is trickier; 1984 turns out to be a leap year, which has them scratching their heads a bit, but it should be sometime in the span of July 1st to the 3rd, for sure.

It’s worse, somehow, Steve thinks, to be able to put a date to it. Summer of 1985. Not even two years away, and it’s not enough. Like most people, he’s been looking forward to getting his Timer since he was a child, but suddenly he doesn’t feel at all prepared. 

He doesn’t say so out loud though, not even when Tommy and Carol turn their attention to the coordinates, pulling reference books and atlases off the shelves and showing more enthusiasm than Steve is used to seeing from them, especially when it comes to things that require research.

Carol’s the one who eventually figures it out, which doesn’t surprise Steve – he’s always suspected that she’s a lot smarter than she pretends to be. She slides the map of Hawkins at him across the table, her finger pointing to the forest west of town. 

Something in Steve’s chest constricts, because there’s nothing there, right now; it’s a heavily wooded area which hasn’t ever seen any use as far as he can remember, overgrown and undeveloped for as long as he’s been alive, and if she’s right— 

If it’s true – and it _is_ , Steve’s mind tells him, it _will be_ – then he can’t imagine who he will meet out there in the dark among the brambles; can’t think of a reason why he will even be out there in the woods in the first place, at least that late at night.

Even worse, he’s got a sinking feeling that it won’t be Nancy Wheeler he’ll be running into, out taking a midnight stroll through the undergrowth. 

“The perfect place to hide a body,” Tommy declares, ignoring the way Carol’s shushing him. “What’d I tell you? You’re gonna Drop, Steve.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut for once, staring down at the map. He can feel the pit in his stomach grow larger as a seed of doubt sets root in the back of his mind, because he’s starting to think that Tommy might be right.

 _Dead man walking_ , and Steve’s not ready. 

He’s not the least prepared to meet a stranger in the wild of the woods, and definitely not ready to meet his end out there, all alone in the dark. 

_656 08 23_ is what the Timer reads, seconds ticking away, and Steve childishly wills it to stop.

//

Nancy doesn’t have a Timer, but Barb did.

Steve finds this out after she— after things start going to Hell.

She didn’t want people to know, Nancy tells him. Probably because the date was so soon. She’d wear bracelets or long sleeved blouses and sweaters, and even Nancy didn’t know the exact number, though she caught a glimpse of the Timer once in the summer of ‘83, just after it appeared. 

It was only later, after Barb was gone, that Nancy sat down to do the math and realized that the numbers might just have been counting down to the week of Steve’s party – that her coordinates might possibly have pointed straight to Steve’s backyard. 

_She must have really hated me_ , is what Steve doesn’t say when Nancy tells him this, because he knows Barb would’ve looked her numbers up, just like he did. Would’ve known exactly when and where she’d either die or meet the rest of her life. 

The police conduct interviews with everyone, and once they find out about Barb’s Timer they use it as a working theory; that Barb left the party, met her One on her way home, and then decided to leave Hawkins with them.

Nancy doesn’t believe it.

She curls up against Steve in the dark of her bedroom, head resting against his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.

“It zeroed out, but she didn’t meet anyone,” she whispers, voice cutting through the silence. “It was a Drop Timer. I know it was.”

Steve doesn’t say anything – just holds her closer, and ignores how in little more than an hour the days of his own Timer will dip into the five hundreds.

//

In a strange turn of events, when the lights in the Byers’ living room start to flicker, it’s the Timer that gives Steve the final push of courage needed to walk back into the house instead of getting into his car and getting the hell out of Dodge. 

It’s the Timer that makes him pick up the bat and step between Nancy and a literal monster, because he’s got another 598 days, 2 hours, and 13 minutes left to go, and tonight is not the night he dies.

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” Nancy will tell him later, her voice achingly fond, because of course that’s not how it works, but in that moment – stepping through the door, picking up the bat, and swinging away – Steve feels _invincible_.

//

He tries to hold on to that feeling for as long as he can.

Tries to remember it in the days, weeks, months that follows, after Nancy takes him back – as she sits next to him in his car, as he walks her to class, as they have lunch together, have study dates, go on _actual_ dates – as she lets him hold her hand, her wrist still bare for the world to see.

And it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask her, sometimes: _Hey, would you go into the woods with me?_

Just to— to see what she’d say to that – how she’d react.

Because he desperately wants to believe that it’ll work out in the end – that _they_ will work out – even as his Timer keeps counting down and the forest west of Hawkins stays untouched and wild.

In the end he never gets around to asking. It’s just as well, though, because there’s no Moment. 

At least— not the kind of moment he’s been hoping for. There won’t ever be that, because they’re _bullshit_ – _Steve_ is bullshit – and four days later it’s over; everything’s gone to shit again – Upside Down clawing its way back into the right-side up – and in the middle of it all he runs into Nancy in the dark outside Hawkins National Laboratory. 

She’s with Byers, and there’s a Timer on her wrist, zeroed out, and Steve knows – he just _knows_ – that her coordinates are a match to the numbers hidden beneath the sleeve of Byers’ jacket.

It happens sometimes; Timers that only show up for one soulmate at first, or Timers that don’t show up at all until two people have had their Moment. It’s not unusual, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and Steve can’t— he can’t focus on her right then and there, can’t shut himself off or turn away or punch something or— or do _any_ of the things he wants to do, because the world might be about to end and he’s somehow acquired a gaggle of fucking _children_ to look after and keep safe, and he— 

He just _can’t_. 

This – the kids – it’s _important_. For once in his sorry life, he feels like he’s doing something that _means something_. So he’s gonna do it – gonna keep the kids safe – and he ends up promising Nancy as much, too, but he was going to do it anyway, because he might be a shitty boyfriend – maybe even someone no one would even want for a soulmate – but as it turns out he’s a pretty damn good babysitter.

It’s November 4th, 1984, and Nancy Wheeler’s found her One, and Steve— 

Steve gives up the thought of her, because at the moment he’s got a purpose, and 240 days, 4 hours, and 49 minutes left to go.

//

In December of ‘84 Mayor Kline unveils his plans for the new Starcourt Mall.

Construction begins almost immediately when two weeks later, on the first of January, they break ground in the forest that marks the spot for Steve’s coordinates. 

They fell the trees and rip out the undergrowth, soil turning into mud beneath boots and wheels, and Steve sometimes drives down to watch the construction vehicles enter and exit the large gate that’s been constructed to keep unauthorized personnel out. They haul steel and wood and concrete in a seemingly never ending stream of materials, like they’re building ten malls instead of one, and Steve sits in his car and silently watches the trucks drive in and out of the site.

Sometimes, in these moments, he kinda wishes that he was still on speaking terms with Tommy and Carol. Because this is his spot that’s being constructed – something shiny and new, a man made thing overtaking the wilderness that Tommy was so sure would be the scene of Steve’s Drop. 

_Not gonna die in the woods_ , Steve thinks, feeling almost lightheaded with relief. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel before turning his hand to expose his wrist, watching the by-now familiar sight of the numbers ticking away. 

182 days, 16 hours, and 41 minutes, and counting. 

//

The mall needs people to keep it running. Steve applies for a couple of jobs, feeling the weight of life beyond his upcoming graduation settling heavily upon his shoulders, weighed down further by his father’s expectations, all the while his Zero Hour breathes down the back of his neck. 

He lands a gig at an ice cream shop, and no one seems to get why he’s even bothering – no one except Dustin.

“Dude, it’s like you’re doing reconnaissance!” he exclaims when Steve tells him, his excitement almost palpable, and it makes Steve feel— better about the whole thing, like his life’s not spinning completely out of control and he’s not heading towards a potential Drop.

Fuck, Steve kinda loves the kid.

It’s the reason why he told Dustin about his Timer in the first place – why he showed Dustin when he asked, curious like kids his age usually are – and Dustin didn’t laugh or tell Steve he was done for when he saw it. He’d just asked if he could touch it – “Uh, yeah?” Steve had said – and then Dustin had grabbed Steve’s wrist, peering down at the numbers, before scrambling to find a piece of paper, because he had to copy down the coordinates so that he could check that Steve had gotten the location right.

And Steve had – _Carol_ had, or at least she hadn’t been too far off, anyway – and so Steve puts on his stupid sailor uniform and goes to his mind numbing job, and keeps an eye out for his future soulmate even though the sailor hat doesn’t do him any favors and his dumbass coworker keeps mocking his every move. 

Doesn’t stop him from trying though, and he smiles at all the pretty girls as they play coy, hoping for a Moment, or a Timer to match his own, or— or something, _anything_.

“It’s not going to be any of them. You know that, right?” Robin says. “Your Timer’s counting down to the middle of the night. The mall will be closed.”

“Yes, thank you,” Steve says, “you’ve said it before,” and he knows he’s being obnoxious, but so is Robin; she hates him for some reason he can’t even begin to imagine – had hated him on sight, even, from the moment they first met on opening day, and Steve honestly can’t think of a single reason why.

He complained about it to Dustin once, but the kid had only frowned. “You used to be kind of a jerk. Did you like, maybe meet her before?” he’d asked, and that— it kind of hurts, a lot more than Steve expected it to. Because it’s Dustin and he usually makes Steve feel— good about himself, like he deserves the way Dustin sometimes looks at him – like he’s smart and strong and someone worth looking up to.

“I don’t think I have,” Steve truthfully answers, and Dustin nods.

“Then maybe _she’s_ the jerk,” he says, like that’s the only possibility left – like there’s nothing in who Steve is that could make Robin hate him – and Steve feels a swell of affection for this kid and his seemingly unwavering faith in him.

“She’s right though,” Dustin continues. “The mall will be closed, but I’ll go with you to meet your soulmate. You don’t have to be there alone.” 

“Thanks, man,” Steve says, touched. He reaches out to clasp Dustin’s shoulder, giving him a little shake, and doesn’t mention anything about Dustin’s curfew or bedtime, because he knows that Dustin means it. 

The kid’s crafty. He’ll find a way to be at Steve’s side at Zero Hour, come Hell or high water.

//

In an unexpected development, seeing as he’s spent the best part of two years freaking the fuck out about it, when Day Zero finally rolls around Steve— 

Steve forgets.

He’s got bigger fish to fry, alright? Erica Sinclair is crawling through an air duct because Russians are using the mall as a secret base while Steve’s up on a roof keeping a look out for communists with machine guns, and to be honest he thinks his forgetfulness is pretty understandable.

Also, fuck, how is this his life?

Then Erica gets the door open and Steve, Robin, and Dustin scramble down from their perch to sneak inside – _Shit, why are the kids here?! Send them home!_ a little voice inside Steve is screeching – and the point is that he gets so swept up in the whole thing that he doesn’t even remember until—

“Steve?”

Steve looks up to find Robin staring at him from across the box that definitely doesn’t contain Chinese food. Her eyes are wide, like she’s just realized something important.

“What does your timer say?”

“Uh,” Steve manages, because _what the fuck, how did he forget_ — and when Robin reaches out to grab his right wrist he doesn’t shake her off; he lets go of the lid he just removed from the box within the box, and silently allows Robin to turn his arm to bare his wrist.

_000 00 03_

Steve sucks in a sharp breath.

“Maybe it’s a Russian,” Erica says, and as one they all turn to look at the large metal door. 

It's closed at the moment, but Steve can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, because maybe his soulmate _is_ a Russian, one of many who’ll pour into the room any moment now, or maybe—

“Is it a Drop Timer?” Dustin blurts out. His voice has a frantic edge to it, and his eyes are fearful as he turns back to look at Steve. “Steve?”

“Fuck,” Robin says, letting go of Steve’s wrist, and Steve—

When the mall had first been built, he’d had been hopeful. Optimistic. His odds had suddenly seemed improved, because the mall had definitely been a better location than the overgrown piece of forest it replaced, but now it looks like the whole thing might be nothing more than a cover for some kind of Russian operation. 

Steve stares down at the contents of the box, where the four metal handles suddenly appear a lot more ominous than they had just a moment ago, and it occurs to him that he might just be more likely to die right here on the spot – in a clean, brightly lit room, surrounded by people he knows – than he ever would in the dark of the woods at the hands of a stranger.

And for the first time in a long time Steve finds himself thinking about Barb. Finds himself wondering if this was how she’d felt, in that last moment when she knew it was coming – this strange numbness, bordering on acceptance.

“Maybe you guys should, y’know, stand back,” he says, because it’s fate – gonna happen no matter what – though that doesn’t stop the words from tasting bitter on his tongue as he reaches out to curl his fingers around one of the metal handles.

There are worse reasons to die, Steve decides, and finds the thought almost comforting. 

Erica and Robin both take a step back when he asks them to, but Dustin squares his shoulders, features set in a stubborn frown.

“No,” he says, and then he steps _closer_ , the suicidal little dipshit. 

Steve places his left hand on Dustin’s chest. “Just— Just step back, okay?” he says, giving the kid a small push, but Dustin simply shakes his head and shoves Steve’s hand away.

“ _No_.”

“Step back. Seriously.”

“No!” Dustin reaches into the box, and for a heart stopping moment Steve thinks he’s going for one of the handles, but then Dustin wraps his fingers around Steve’s right wrist instead, pulling at it, and Steve has no choice but to let go of the handle and allow Dustin to yank his hand out of the box.

“No, look,” Dustin says, turning Steve’s arm so that he can see the Timer – _000 00 01_ now, less than a minute left to go – and the kid’s fingers are gripping Steve’s arm with enough force to turn them white and probably leave marks on Steve’s skin, too. 

“Dustin—”

“Look,” Dustin repeats, breath hitching like he’s about to cry. “I can’t— Look. If you die, I die.”

And Steve—

Steve doesn’t even have time to formulate a response to that, because Dustin suddenly yelps and drops Steve’s wrist like it’s on fire. He draws both arms up against his chest, whimpering like he’s in pain, and Steve in turn finds himself lurching backwards as a sharp, freezing burning sensation runs up his right arm, leaving the sting of cold needles in its wake. 

He grits his teeth against the ache, breathing heavily through his nose as he looks down at his Timer – zeroed out, now – and then at Dustin, who’s staring down at his own wrist, and in the next moment he’s nearly knocked off his feet as Dustin crashes into him.

“Ohthankgod,” Dustin breathes, throwing his arms around him, and the sheer relief in the kid’s voice kind of floors Steve – like Dustin’s not at all upset that Steve’s continued existence is due to his fate being completely interwoven with Dustin’s; like Dustin doesn’t even care that he’s going to be stuck with Steve from now on until one or both of them kick the bucket. 

Dustin clings to him like he _wants_ this, and Steve can’t help but clutch him right back. He feels a bit lightheaded all of a sudden, struck dumb by the knowledge that he’s not going to die, and a bit breathless, too, because Dustin’s grip isn’t letting up and he’s stronger than he appears.

“Did you guys just have a Moment?” Robin asks, sounding incredulous, and when Steve looks at her she’s a bit blurry – he tightens his grip on the back of Dustin’s shirt and thinks he might have to sit down for a bit, maybe.

“Whatever,” Erica says. “Let’s get moving, nerds.”

Before either Robin or Steve can stop her, she’s up on her tip toes and reaching into the box, twisting and pulling at one of the handles. There’s a clicking sound and then a low hiss, and the next moment Erica is holding a canister filled with a strange green substance. It looks like a liquid, or a thick ooze, maybe, and it seems to be emitting a soft glow strong enough to be visible even beneath the bright fluorescent lights.

“What the hell?” Steve can’t help but blurt out, and it makes Dustin pull back from him, eyes widening as he catches sight of the container in Erica’s hands.

Robin seems to agree with Steve. “What _is_ that?”

A rumbling sound suddenly tears through the room, a series of mechanical _clanks_ coming from what seems like all sides, and Steve rocks on his feet as the floor seems to shake. Dustin sways with him, eyes still fixed on the green ooze, and then he turns to look up at Steve.

“Was that just me or did the room move?”

//

Steve can’t stop looking at it.

The Timer’s just a bunch of static zeroes, and it looks kind of— _dead_ now that it’s no longer counting down. It’s strange to see it and know that Zero Hour has already come and gone, and if he’s being honest with himself Steve still can’t really believe that he made it out the other side alive.

When he tells Robin, she laughs. 

“Well, the odds for dying are still pretty good,” she says.

And it’s true, because the elevator door remains stubbornly closed even after the sudden drop that carried them all the way down to the bottom of the elevator shaft. In short, they’re not going anywhere, and have been stuck in place for literally hours now. 

The fluorescent lights in the elevator never dim, but Steve knows it’s the middle of the night thanks to his wristwatch. Erica’s asleep on the floor in one of the corners, wedged between the shelves and the wall, but Dustin’s been glued to Steve’s side since the Timer hit zero. He’s still there now, pressed up against Steve with his head resting on Steve’s shoulder as he dozes, the brim of his cap awkwardly bumping Steve’s jaw when he moves in his sleep.

Steve finds that he doesn’t particularly mind. He can’t bring himself to sleep, not when they’re basically sitting ducks, and apparently neither can Robin. But it’s been hours now, and they’ve run out of escape plans to talk about.

“I’ve never seen a Moment before,” Robin says, bringing him out of his thoughts. “It was pretty cool.” She throws him a sideways glance. “Though I gotta say Dustin was a bit of a surprise.”

Steve snorts, because Robin doesn’t know the half of it – has no idea what he and the kid have been through together. And even if she did, she might still not understand; Mike still looks at Steve like he’s an annoyance at times, and while Lucas maybe kinda gets it and might even like Steve on some level, Steve’s got the feeling that the kid doesn’t really understand why Dustin keeps insisting on spending time with Steve outside of Upside-down related events.

Sometimes Steve questions it himself, but then his eyes flick down to where Dustin’s arm is resting against his leg – where, even though his wrist is turned away, Steve knows that Dustin’s Timer mirrors Steve’s down to the last coordinate – and, well... Maybe none of them had known the real reason.

Steve kind of wants to ask Robin if she thinks soulmates can sense each other even before the Timers show up, but when he turns her way he catches her rubbing her thumb across her bare wrist, looking thoughtful, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead he focuses on the elevator door, trying to steel himself for what’s to come.

Should be a piece of cake, dealing with a bunch of Russians after taking on the Upside down not once but twice. Although, granted, the last time – the first time, and every time since – the Upside down decided to fuck with Hawkins, Steve had his Timer to look to – had that fucking countdown to help tell himself that his time wasn’t up yet, even though he’s always known that it doesn’t really work that way.

Now, with his Timer zeroed out, he’s going to have to find that steady reassurance somewhere else. 

He sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall. Dustin shifts next to him, a brief twitch of his shoulder before he settles back into sleep, and he’s warm and heavy where he’s pressed all along Steve’s side.

Dustin, at least, believes in Steve. Steve never has reason to doubt that, even if he’s better at taking punches than throwing them. Whatever is happening – whatever they’re facing – when push comes to shove, Dustin’s always in Steve’s corner, without fail. 

And maybe, Steve thinks, that’s it. Maybe it was never so much about finding something to believe in, but rather finding someone to actually believe in Steve. 

It’s— a lot to take in. 

Steve tilts his head to the side, resting his cheek on the top of Dustin’s head. He’ll have to think about it tomorrow. Maybe— maybe he’ll ask Dustin for his take on it.

Yeah, he thinks, keeping his eyes on the door. He might just do that. 

They’ll come up with the answer together. 

//

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Steve’s countdown begins on September 15th, 1983 at 9:37:42 AM, and ends on July 2, 1985 at 11:46:14 PM (that’s 9:37:42 and 23:46:14 for my fellow metric users!).
> 
> Shoutout to timeanddate.com's Days Calculator, without which this fic would’ve been relegated to the trash can labeled ugh-I-can’t-be-bothered-figuring-this-out.


End file.
